


The Beautiful Death

by Corpasite



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 05:50:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20371738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corpasite/pseuds/Corpasite
Summary: The warm embrace, the touch of bodies.  The cold death, the betrayal of love.  The constant back-and-forth has kept him in, kept him addicted.  How can one overcome the beautiful death?  That lukewarm touch of betrayal?





	The Beautiful Death

Silence, peace, could this be happiness? The world is dark, silent, and just warm enough to put the mind at ease, but that’s not what his body was trained to do. Senses start kicking into overdrive, as silence and warmth are not normal. Eyes flash open to a dull light, ears tune in to buzzing static, nose takes in the scent of sweat, skin, and jasmine. His mind did not just pick up the scent of jasmine, it can’t have. Especially when that means…

“Oh, you’re awake, Leon…” that voice, the one that seduces you to get closer and then smothers you in silk and lace, the beautiful death.

Leon runs the back of his right hand across his forehead, mind still working to piece together what happened, that is until he realizes he’s naked, “Ada…”

Pictures appear in his mind, pieces of a larger puzzle he isn’t sure he wants to put together, “Glad to see you too… Sleep good?”

He’s not sure, he’s still dizzy, or groggy, thoughts hard to process, “I guess. I’m surprised to wake up and you still be here. Usually you’d be gone before I even fully fell asleep.”

Ada laughs a bit at his comment before nodding in agreement, “Things are a little different this time, Leon…” she crawls back onto the bed and inches closer toward him.

His skin itches for her, his body craving her, but his mind tries to fight her, or resist, or, what? She leans in, her black hair hanging down just enough to tickle his nose before her lips wrap around the tip of his nose, the scent of jasmine heavy on her skin. His mind does barrel-rolls inside his skull, making the agent lightheaded. She always makes him feel like this, even when he knows he shouldn’t fall into this trap, this beautiful death.

His hands operate on their own, snaking up her arms, around her back, and pulling her even closer to him, “Why are things a little different?”

Something sets his instincts ablaze, his eyes focusing more, ears listening harder, nose picking up more scents, namely a distinct chemical smell, “I couldn’t find what I was looking for on your phone this time… Seems your handlers are getting smarter. The US Government filed three different itineraries for the President, which one is his actual destination?”

“Why would they tell me?” his speech is starting to slur, she’s drugged him with something.

She straddles his chest, hands snaking back behind her, and there his mind goes again, flipping around inside his head, “You are the Government’s lapdog, Leon… You must be privy to the details of his trip…”

“This is all I’ve been for you, just a source to squeeze…” he fights hard to not want her, to not need to taste her.

She laughs, an actual, real laugh, the first one he’s sure she means, “Please… I don’t have to squeeze you,” she does squeeze him though, eliciting a gasp from him, “a simple hug will do, matched with the right skirt a size too small… You are the easiest target ever, Leon S. Kennedy.”

There goes his mind, his rationale, his control, as he wiggles his hips and slips into her, driven on pure lust, losing himself to Ada and the drug she has hit him with, “Tell me, Leon…”

11

Silence, peace, could this be happiness? The world is dark, silent, and just warm enough to put the mind at ease, but that’s not what his body was trained to do. Senses start kicking into overdrive, as silence and warmth are not normal. Eyes flash open to a dull light, ears tune in to buzzing static, nose takes in the scent of sweat, skin, and fresh air.

He jolts up in bed, looking around for any unwelcome guests, his mind still groggy, but clearing up quick, “Anyone there?”

The handgun on his nightstand is picked up and aimed at the dark corners of his room, but is dropped back down as he really is alone. Just what the hell happened? Last thing he remembers was becoming best friends with his usual stool at the bar up the street, but he couldn’t have gotten that drunk.

His phone flashes, Hunnigan, what could she want at this hour, “Hey, Hunnigan.”

“Leon, the President’s motorcade was hit in Belarus,” this clears up any remaining grogginess he might have.

Leon flips out of bed, slips a shirt on, and stops for a brief second to question why he’s wearing pajama pants, “What happened?”

“Reports are unclear, you need to be on the next flight out, ticket will be waiting,” this causes him to pause as something wafts his way from the bathroom.

He steps toward the dark room and flicks the light on, squinting at the sharp brightness, “Yeah, Hunnigan, you’re going to have to remember that I don’t work for the Government anymore, but I do know who’s responsible…”

On the counter rests a small bottle of jasmine perfume on top of a pair of red lace panties, _The beautiful death…_


End file.
